Riding the White Horse 'Heroin' into Heaven and Then Into Hell!
by Hutch-is-gorgeous
Summary: A sort of off the beaten path 'religious take' on the episode "The Fix."
1. Chapter 1

_Intro: "Thank-You!" to those of you who helped me with this fanfic story! My dear friend Trish (Atrish1 on this fanfic site) included and would be helping if during our phone conversation that we try to do each week, she wasn't so tired from getting off of work. Then there is my sweet friend Robin C. and she gets a special "Thank you!" because like me, she's a fan of David Soul and that includes we are Hutch gals! However, unlike me, she hates Hutch being hurt! What a fantastic pal she is for helping me with my story._

 _An extra special "Thank-You!" goes to my dear friend and main beta-reader Arlene (acmabry on this fanfiction site)! I lost track of how many times she had to re-read my intro and the story because I kept changing things. Don't know how she kept from pulling out all of her hair with all of that beta reading._ _By the way, it's so marvelous that on Oct. 18, 2015, Arlene and her hubby celebrated their 34 years wedding anniversary! She said he's her Starsky and Hutch rolled into one!_

 _As for my research on the web... Glassman (like Bernie Glassman in "The Fix") and Glaser, and other variations of it, has a name meaning_ of: _German and Swiss German: occupational name for a glass blower or glazier, from an agent derivative of Middle High German_ glas _'glass'. This name is widespread throughout central Europe. Jewish (Ashkenazic): occupational name for a glass blower or glazier, from the German word Glaser._

 _Ashkenazic Jews are the Jews of France, Germany, and Eastern Europe and their descendants._ _The adjective "Ashkenazic" and corresponding nouns, Ashkenazi (singular) and Ashkenazim (plural) are derived from the Hebrew word "Ashkenaz," which is used to refer to Germany. Most American Jews today are Ashkenazim, descended from Jews who emigrated from Germany and Eastern Europe from the mid -1800s to the early 1900s._

 _As for Paul Michael Glaser- I don't know if he is Akhkenzaic Jewish or not and have yet to write to him and ask him if he knows. As for Starsky being Jewish... I read on the web at Jewish Chronicle Online an article about Paul. In part of the article Paul said he didn't play Starsky as being Jewish, but to him he was just ethnic._

 _Also, though I know that Hutch and Starsky cuss, there isn't any in my story._

 _Also, in this story I'm not sticking with a whole lot of things the way that they are in the episode of "The Fix."_

 _However, one of the ways I'm sticking to the script and that Robert I. Holt wrote is that with the exception of Bill Beryl, Bryd, Henry, Conner, and Catalina (whose names I made up) any other characters I give the names of are the same ones Robert has in his script. Oh, and to clarify this- Also, not mentioned in the script are David and Jonathan from the Bible._

 _Comments and no matter the size; and good comments, bad ones, or a combination of both, are much appreciated! Thank you so much and much love to you all!_

 **Chapter One of Riding the White Horse 'Heroin' into Heaven and Then into Hell!**

You can't actually see God, but you can feel Him in the wind.

Really that should be-

You don't need to actually see God to know that He is a real, just like you don't need to literally see the wind to know that it exists.

And speaking of the wind…yesterday a breeze, that had begun its life somewhere far out in the Pacific Ocean, had grown mighty enough to blow into _all_ and not just part of the Bay City, California metropolitan area (the 2nd largest metropolitan area in the country) some rain.

Precipitation and plentiful enough to keep the plant life...like the trees with beautiful white flowers and lush green leaves...from thirsting for more water before the next rain came down. The weatherperson who'd predicted that such would take place six days from today was one of the most accurate in the U.S.A.-

There were other things I was thinking about: Like how right now there weren't any chills running up and down my spine, and how there weren't any warning bells going off inside of my head.

Why should there be?

When there was nothing _weird_ going on that it was Bill Beryl, my partner for eight years now, who was sitting behind the steering wheel of the police car.

While out patrolling, he usually did the driving, that didn't mean he was better at it. He did, however, like doing it more than me. Meaning that while he drove, there wasn't anything _odd_ going on...what with me, Bernie Glassman, also wearing a police uniform, having my butt parked, and quite comfortably, on the front passenger seat of the full-sized sedan.

In American slang the sedan was known as a 'black and white' due to the large panels of the car being painted with those two colors-

Underneath the hood was a heavy-duty transmission.

A powerful engine also was helping with moving the car, that didn't weigh a ton, but it certainly wasn't light-weight, easily forward and going south on a two-way, two-lane street called Elm.

Two miles up ahead we approached a stop sign; there was nothing _strange_ about Beryl obeying it like he always did and to keep from crashing into some other vehicles. Not colliding into them when not a whole lot of feet in front of us was a two-way, four-lane road named 2nd Street. And without any kind of traffic sign informing the driver of each vehicle on that street whether or not they should go, slow down, or stop.

Then, here on planet Earth, in a time zone when it was Tuesday early afternoon and there was nothing _bizarre_ about 2nd Street having a good number of vehicles traveling on it- It could be very dangerous for a person to try to cross over 2nd Street to get to Elm.

Either way, there still weren't any chills running up and down my spine because from where Beryl and I sat facing south, we couldn't see that someone was wanting to cross over 2nd Street to get to Elm.

Also, currently there was nothing to be alarmed about because Beryl and I had just watched three people pass by the front of our patrol car. Two had walked west, one east, they'd had no problems at all arriving safely onto the sidewalk they wanted to be on, and afterwards continue on walking to wherever it was they were heading to.

But wait!...

There was something _different_.

 _Out of the ordinary_ because looking out of the rolled down driver's side window of the patrol car, I'd suddenly just noticed someone.

A man.

One and who was hunched over and he was running!

I wasn't aware that the blond man used to live in Duluth, Minnesota and had been in love with ships and the sea ever since he was old enough to read.

And in high school he was a lifeguard, was voted the boy most likely to succeed, and was the class valedictorian.

Then when he was attending college, he was an intercollegiate dart champion along with the fact he was a success at being an intercollegiate wrestler and for the three years he attended college. Then he decided to attend the Bay City Police Academy and unsurprisingly graduated with top honors in many of the police academy topics.

I also wasn't aware that he had been married to someone named Vanessa, and though he wasn't successful at staying married to her and she had divorced him, he was successful at a lot of other things.

I also wasn't aware that in this part of Bay City, just moments ago: He (and dangerously enough that it would've caused chills to run up and down my spine had I seen him do it!) had crossed over 2nd Street to get to Elm.

And when doing so he'd come too blasted close to being struck by a car and that could've killed him!

And then right afterwards he was almost hit by another car!

I also wasn't aware that the driver of the first car had blared their horn at him before he'd succeeded to get to where I was currently observing him on Elm Street's east sidewalk; it was easy to see that he hadn't just intentionally meant to rudely collide into a blonde woman who over her shirt she was wearing a green, button up sweater.

(He had to have heard her high-pitched startled "Ah!" when he'd collided into her and made her fall!)

Another thing that had been easy to observe was that he hadn't had enough time to at least politely quickly say "Sorry!" to her before he'd simultaneously, albeit unintentionally, had rudely plowed into a man who was considerably older than him.

Right before the woman and the older man had crashed onto the green grass or the sidewalk- she had tossed into the air a large paper sack of food that she'd been carrying in her arms. And the older man, when falling on his back, had lost his hat off his head and had completely dumped over his personal two-wheeled, fold-out shopping cart and in it two big paper bags of groceries, one stacked on top of the other one.

When the guy I didn't know who used to live in Duluth, Minnesota accidentally made the woman and the older man do all of that- he additionally didn't mean for the woman and the older man to get hurt.

 _It was unintentional that they were hurt because they hadn't been bullying him or trying to do anything mean to him at all._

 _They merely were people who happened to be in his way of him trying to get further away from whatever or whoever or those he was running from!_

I knew the woman who just so happened to be unintentionally in his way and wearing the green sweater-Bryd was a recent bride and was 28-years- old. The older man, Henry, was old enough that he and his wife had just celebrated their 24th wedding anniversary.

However, inside the patrol car I was thinking that any cuts, bruises or any other injuries that Bryd and Henry had didn't require the services of a doctor, nurse, paramedic, or someone else who knew a whole lot about first aid.

Surely, Bryd and Henry, even though he had fallen onto his back, hadn't been wounded too badly. Conner, and standing just a few feet away from them , would be able to take care of them. Conner was carrying a business briefcase and knew just the very basics about first aid.

It was especially so that he was going to have to attend to Bryd's and Henry's needs because I was so much, much, more concerned about 'him.'

 _The blond 'him' whose hair had some curl to it, was about 32-years-old, was wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved, light tan shirt, and who had just succeeded in getting himself up and off the grass that he'd also crash-landed onto._

 _And again, hunched over ..._

 _He was running!_

"Hey, isn't that that detective?'' I asked my partner, but not giving him a chance to answer, "Yeah, Hutchinson, " I firmly replied, when there was no mistake about it! That Hutchinson was precisely who he was!

"There's a missing officer out on him," I told Beryl for the 2nd time today. Then "Call it in," I also said in a tone of voice that conveyed it was urgent that he hurry and pick up the mike!

To not be slow about speaking into it either, and speedily get the message out and over the airwaves and to every police radio within receiving distance that Starsky's partner, and not only that! But his best friend in the whole entire world had been sighted!

 _(Starsky also was Hutchinson's best friend in the whole entire world, they were a modern day David and Jonathan from the Bible, with the way their souls were so tightly knit together!)_

Immediately following telling Beryl to "Call it in."-

'Click'

Went the front passenger seat door handle making its usual sound when someone lifted up on it.

Opening the door all the way and exiting the patrol car-I went chasing after Hutchinson.

 _As fast as I could._

He led me into an alley…It was an un-picturesque one at that.

Then watching the guy literally sag…literally 'wilt' down onto his knees...

It was 1975 and more precisely than that-It was early October; the season of autumn that some people called "fall"...

Today there was a gentle wind blowing. Also called a "zephyr" and poetically used in some Christian hymns _,_

 _The zephyrs seem to float to me,  
Sweet sounds to Heaven's melody,  
As angels with the white robed throng  
Join in the sweet redemption song. _('Beulah Land' copyright public domain)

Wherever today's zephyr had originated from, the salty Pacific or Atlantic Ocean or way over in Israel in the Sea of Galilee; which actually was a big freshwater lake-

 _The breeze, though gentle, was still mighty enough to blow on Hutchinson. Blow on him and making him fall face down onto the alley and then roll immediately over onto his right side, and into a semi-fetal position!_

 _And no longer the proud and strong man that he once was._

 _That he used to be._

But let's stop with the over-dramatics because the truth was that the light wind had nothing to do with making him fall and collapse on over like he'd just done.

No doubt about it…it was the severe depletion…the massively brutal draining of his own body's energy... that had caused him to do it.

And standing just a few feet away, feeling downright protective of him, and not wanting to make things worse for the poor guy by assaulting his ears when yelling out loud...

 _Inside my head and where Hutchinson couldn't hear my thoughts, but God definitely could, I was cursing the Almighty. Not using actual swear words, but still giving God a royal chewing out for allowing this detective- this- 'human!'- To be in such a sad shape as this!_

Then, on the other hand, I had a reputation for professing to as many people as possible how much God loved all of mankind and so much so that He had sent Jesus, His only begotten Son, to Earth to die for our sins-

 _This cop shouldn't be cursing Him at all._

Knew full well that what I should do was to send up to Heaven a quick but anyhow heartfelt prayer of praises and thanks!

Because Hutchinson was lost but had been found!

No longer missing, having been physically located!

And though the magnificent joy in that hadn't gone 'Poof! _'_

Into thin air.

I had once again became irritated… disappointed... Words stronger than that because steaming hot angry at God! (And repeating that God was All-powerful!)-

That prayer of praises and thanks hadn't been sent up after all because here _HE_ was allowing Hutchinson to just lie here on the dirt pavement that had mixed in it some small stones; with some rain water still on that pavement, and in that same semi-fetal position he was so sick that he had no control over the fact that his upper body was quaking!

Continuing to feel immensely sorry for him-

"Why aren't you stepping in and miraculously healing him, and which you Lord, and without a doubt, are so capable of doing!?" I questioned God and so loudly, that to keep on protecting Hutchinson, the inquiry had been shouted inside my head and where it couldn't hurt Hutchinson's ears.

And then a sense of needing to ask God for forgiveness suddenly washed over me (and I quickly just whispered a prayer for Him to do so) as who was 'I'… a mere human…to be finding any kind of fault at all with completely perfect and awesomely holy Deity?

Should never have started such a foolish thing to begin with! What, with knowing all along that God has His reasons for doing and not doing certain things, and obviously He was choosing to not make Hutchinson instantly and miraculously 'all better' from whatever it was that was causing him to be so ill and in so much pain.

(On top of that, in the New Testament it says that miracles eventually did cease and because it says that, I believe it, even if I don't yet understand how miracles have ceased.)

As Hutchinson continued to lay on his right side and in a semi-fetal position with his entire body faced away from a wall...

(An 8 feet tall plywood wall with graffiti on it and that God hadn't written on; though thousands of years ago He'd written on a plaster one and it could be read about in the book of Daniel.)

Suddenly a thought struck me to keep Hutchinson not facing the plywood wall and take a hold of his left forearm.

Then do other things and quickly scoot him-

And as non-painful to him as possible closer to the wall. Get him further away from the center of the road, just in case the brunet Starsky, in his extreme eagerness to get to his extremely precious blond, was driving so fast that he wouldn't be able to stop his Torino in time and accidentally run over the blond!

Additionally, there were those track marks.

Those track marks and running up and down the full length of the alley had been made by the tires of other people's automobiles, Hutchinson's upper body had suddenly stopped shaking.

But that wasn't such a great thing because laying on his right side and, again, still in a semi-fetal position, he was rocking his upper body back and forth.

"Errr" wasn't exactly the sound he was making. The sound that was coming out of his mouth while he was trying to puke and totally get rid of whatever it was that was making him feel so sick to his stomach. But "Errr" was close enough.

Having moved him closer to the 8 feet tall plywood wall and using the space left between it and his partially drawn up legs, I was part way crouched down onto my left leg and was kneeling on my right knee.

The two positions making it possible to continue bending my upper body far enough over and around Hutchinson's legs, and having continued sympathy for him looking down at him, keeping an equally sympathetic watch on his face.

However, in hopes that he did actually realize that someone deeply cared about him, I'd already placed my right hand on his back.

Then amidst the sound of Hutchinson still trying to throw-up, I heard something else.

Straightening up my back, turning my head to the left and watching the Torino finishing turning the right corner of the connecting alley, Starsky brought the car's speed up enough to bring it to a screeching-brakes skidded stop about 20 feet away from us.

In his urgency and haste to get to Hutchinson- -Starsky hadn't accidentally run over Hutchinson after all.

And getting out of the Torino, but having to close the door to be able to get past a railing in front of one of the buildings on that side of the alley, and rounding the car's front fender, Starsky hurried over to his partner.

Directly in front of Hutchinson, dropping onto his right knee with just the tip of his adidas tennis shoe touching the pavement, he squatted down onto his left leg just enough to quickly reach his arms out to his partner.

"Hutch," he said. "Wait," he instructed me, cupping his hands around the blond's left arm directly above the elbow.

Though Starsky had said, "Wait," he didn't mind that I'd helped him (but just a little bit!) with raising the ill blond halfway up and off the alley and into a partially sitting up position.

Sitting that way, Hutchinson was leaning somewhat less onto his right side.

But he still was so weak and so sick! And Starsky totally took over and was the only one who was allowed to touch Hutchinson! Hutchinson's chin, jaw and his neck being supported by Starsky's spread out (yet strong!) left hand while Starsky looked at his face.

 _As for my own partner, Bill Beryl-We'd had the last two days and nights off work; we weren't spending any of it together. Again, it was Tuesday, and at 6:30 a.m. before I was supposed to meet Beryl at the Bay City police station where we worked out of; I was inside a coffee and doughnut shop when Catalina, a female cop, who also frequently came there, approached my table. "Do you remember who David Starsky is?" she asked._

 _"Sure do! He's the Bay City plain-clothes detective who works out of Parker Center and drives a candy-apple red Torino with a white vector stripe on both sides!"_

 _Neither of us having mentioned how we'd met him in the first place, she said, "An APB has been put out on his missing partner Ken Hutchinson. According to Starsky and their captain, the last time they'd seen Hutchinson was on Friday at about 7:15 p.m. and that he was in excellent health and in a really good mood when he left their squad room to go spend time with his lady Jeanie Walden!"_

 _Catalina then said that Hutchinson was Caucasian, was 32-years-old, had blond hair and gave a few more details about it, had sky-blue eyes, was 6'1", lean and weighed 175 lbs. She then told me how she'd found out that Starsky and Hutchinson were each others best friends in the whole entire world and were a modern day David and Jonathan from the Bible, with the way their souls were so tightly knit together!"_

 _This morning and a soon as I saw Beryl I gave him every last bit of the pertinent information, but now, here in the alley, I was uncertain if Hutchinson was really who I thought he was so that..._

He's your partner, isn't he?" I asked Starsky.

He also hadn't stopped paying close attention to the blond whose mouth was open, his respirations having picked up to such a rate in speed that now he was huffing in and out.

"Yeah," Starsky replied to my question.

But dropping down onto his knee that wasn't already on the alley and examining Hutchinson's face some more, then apparently seeing something in those wild-looking sky-blue eyes belonging to Hutchinson, Starsky tightened his right hand more firmly around his partner's left wrist and fully stretched out the arm.

Starsky didn't hesitate with using his other hand and yanking up the blond's shirt sleeve... Hutchinson also looking down at what was going on... The three of us seeing in the crook of his elbow the injection needle track marks, it was then that, "My God. He's a junkie," came out of my mouth.

 _Two of heroin's slang names were heaven-dust and heaven. And if a person got themselves a hypodermic needle injection of the liquefied stuff , the drug would enter them into paradise. Paradise, that is, on Earth, and where they were free from all of life on Earth's problems._

 _But two more slang names for heroin were 'hell-dust' and 'hero of the underworld' and for a humongous reason. Especially when a human, who was hooked on the highly addictive and illegal drug, had gone too long of a time without getting another shot of the stuff!_

Surely, Hutchinson, also working for one of the largest and the best police departments in the whole world was very much more so educated about illegal drugs than if he worked for some other police department.

And though he knew he had gone too long of a time without getting another hit of heroin, he knew, too, that he hadn't seen anything yet!

When the current pain he was in and the suffering that came with it, although making him feel awful- as the withdrawal from the heroin continued it was going to cause him to feel a whole lot worse.

 _Was going to feel more miserable than he was now and horrifically so, but being aware of the fact that at least it wasn't contagious to anyone around him, he would feel like he'd come down with a case of the super flu!_

 _The agony! Not anywhere close to being as excruciating as if he'd been badly burned by real fire!-Regardless of that 'all and spare none' of the 37 trillion cells in his body were going to be screaming out to be released from the hellish torment!_

And because it was by his own freedom of choice he had decided to use heroin in the first place, I had already ceased feeling sorry for him!

As it was, his head started shaking up and down and, again, he was making a sound that he still needed to vomit and when so far he hadn't 'succeeded' in doing so.

Starsky compassionately pulled him over onto his lap. "Shut up, huh? I'll handle it," Starsky said in regards to the "My God. He's a junkie," his eyes having shifted to barely look at me before he brought them back to the left, and bent his head down and fully looked down at his partner.

Then, without hesitation Starsky used his right hand and made circles; smooth and unbroken; on the blond's back; trying to comfort Hutchinson in as much as the blond's current degree of distress would allow.

"I gotta make a report," I interjected.

Starsky's response to that was to keep Hutchinson pulled over onto his lap and at the same time the brunet's left hand also stayed tucked between the blond's right armpit and rib cage-Starsky's continuing to not being disgusted with him, and not recoiling away from him, was obviously meant to also aid in trying to comfort Hutchinson.

However, Starsky rapidly stopped looking down at his partner and staring me straight in the face- he lashed out his right arm and took a hold of a tight fistful of my shirt! Giving it some tugs,

"No report. This didn't happen, Bernie. Understand? This didn't happen. I'll take responsibility," he said.

Nodding my head "Yes" up and down a couple of times, but to then verbally notify Starsky what the nodding actually meant I said... " I really didn't understand that 'this' didn't happen!...I'd heard his, "I'll take responsibility," but I was choosing to ignore it! And I was still going to type out in my police report that it was Hutchinson's own freedom of choice to use heroin in the first place!"

Starsky knew that when typing out a report that carbon copies of the report were also being made, and the most dreaded department in the Bay City, Calif. Police Department 'Internal Affairs' (IA ) would be getting a copy, Starsky argued back at me and in continued protectiveness of Hutchinson:

"Look! Bernie! Friday at about 7:15 p.m. when Hutch left our squad room to go spend time with his girl Jeanie Walden, he was in excellent health and in a really good mood. Our captain also can vouch for that!

I didn't have any reason to really disbelief Starsky. Still, here in this filthy alley, I now shot back at Starsky:

"But I got a feeling when Jeanie and that partner and best friend of yours met up at her place he became so depressed over something that when he jumped into his car, instead of going to a hospital's ER and getting professional psychiatric help like he should have, he sped to a dealer, scored himself some heroin and the paraphernalia needed to feed his arm!"

Not even a little bit...none...zero! Of Starsky's and my intense shouting at each other had been so noisy to have hurt Hutchinson's ears.

To add, the very curly-haired brunet Starsky obviously had noticed that my forehead didn't have any scowl lines. Lines that said I did really have Christ-like sympathy for Hutchinson getting so down in the dumps when he met up with Jeanie on Friday night, and he had my sympathies even though I didn't know what he'd gotten so depressed about.

Even so, my lips were tightly curled downward. Into a frown to show that I still didn't have 'any' compassion for Hutchinson going through 'any' of the stages of withdrawal and the symptoms that came with each of those stages. When rather than using the Detective Sergeant First Class (the ranking and at such a young age meaning that he was highly intelligent) brain God blessed him with, and getting himself some much needed professional emergency psychiatric help when he'd gotten that depressed...he was an idiot... a total fool at that! To use heroin in the first place...When Starsky and also with the same ranking as Hutchinson and at such a young age, immediately lost all of his patience with me.

Giving my shirt yet another tug and this time significantly harder, at least he was highly intelligent enough to not strangle me to death because with a murder on his mind, certainly he wouldn't be able to continue on taking care of Hutchinson as well as he wanted to.

Still, Starsky had turned into a mother hen wasn't anywhere close to being the correct animal. A grizzly bear is what he'd turned into. Grizzly bears always came into the world weighing less than a pound, blind, hairless, and toothless; Hutchinson wasn't any of those, but right now he still was as helpless as one. Grizzlies were usually born in pairs, Starsky definitely had turned into a full-grown mamma one who had given birth to only one baby and that made Starsky even more so fierce. Especially so when he defended Hutchinson and growled at me:

"Now you listen Bernie and you listen really good! You got that right Hutch is my partner and best buddy and I found his gun at his apartment! He wouldn't visit his own mother without it and never met up with Jeanie on Friday night! Don't you dare tell me you didn't see the bruises on his face and the blood on his shirt! He didn't beat himself up or juice himself up with heroin either! But IA won't care that a lousy crook shot him up with the stuff and get Hutch fired anyways! Even if I promise IA I'll get him clean and make certain for the rest of his life he stays that way! Somethin' else 'bout Hutch. Even with all the endless bull-crap a cop has to put up with being one, Hutch loves being a cop enough that he doesn't want any other kind of job! Again, to get it through that thick skull of yours, it wasn't his fault he was doped up, but IA won't care and get his hide canned anyhow so no report! Got that!?"

Yes I did get that! And wasn't going to type out a report after all. Because even though their close-knit friendship would stay intact when Hutchinson got fired, I didn't want IA splitting up the great at their job cop team of Starsky and Hutch.

Also, I didn't want to get Hutchinson canned from his job because when he applied for another one even if the job didn't have anything to do with law enforcement; the job application would ask certain questions. Questions like:

Where did he last work?

For how many years was he employed there, and why did he no longer work there?

If Hutchinson answered the last question honestly, he possibly would go through the wringer (even more hell) when talking the hiring manager into hiring him anyways. When some places of employment didn't want former druggies on their payroll even if it wasn't their fault they'd become a druggie in the first place.

Here in this alley I was no longer frowning, I gently told Starsky that I most certainly did get everything he'd just told me. However, I also just as gently explained to him that although I wouldn't type out a police report, as soon as I got back to my partner and not best friend, but still good friend Bill Beryl, he would still be expecting me to give him an oral report about Hutchinson's condition.

I then quickly informed Starsky that Hutchinson and he had nothing to worry about because what I would tell Beryl was that Hutchinson 'Hutch' for short, had been beaten up and he was sick, but both were able to be medically taken care of by him staying mostly in bed for the rest of the day and tonight and most of tomorrow, and occasionally Starsky handing him two Tylenol, some ginger ale, some chicken and noodle soup, but no more than that.

"Thanks!" Starsky exclaimed, giving me a pat on my upper right arm...

"Give me a hand," he instructed me and as he got up and off his knees, raised Hutch off his lap ...

"Come on, Hutch," and even while Starsky was saying that, it couldn't be helped that both Starsky and I had relaxed some of our hold onto Hutch.

When we'd done so Hutch had drastically leaned to the right with needing to rest his still attempting to vomit sick self down onto the pavement; a guttural groan also having come out of his mouth that expressed he needed to do so.

Nevertheless, us three men couldn't stay here any longer and before Hutch had descended all the way onto the alley, Starsky and I were able to get him pulled up and onto his feet and assisted him in supporting his body weight, and shortly thereafter we arrived at the front passenger door of the Torino.

I quickly opened the door. Still, due to a lack of space, it was only Starsky who got Hutch into the car and sat him down on the seat.

Then the brunet lowered him down onto it so that Hutch laid on his left side.

Next Starsky curled him up into a ball. But not so tight of a one that his guts were being painfully scrunched together, and just below his knees his legs freely dangled off the seat.

Staying outside the car, out of their way, and continuing to look through the windshield at what was happening and viewing Starsky taking his left hand off of Hutch's right hip bone, though the blond didn't cry out,

"Don't go. Don't go. Don't leave me!" Starsky must've sensed that right now Hutch would've missed his departure because "I'll be back in a flash, Babe!" Starsky assured him.

Then Starsky hurriedly backed himself out of the Torino, and did other things, so that as he sat behind the steering wheel, the doors closed, I watched them go a little way up the alley.

Then hearing another motor vehicle, I quickly turned around.

It was Beryl driving the patrol car and as soon as he stopped it near me, I opened the front passenger door, quickly got into the car, and just as hurriedly sat down on the seat and slammed the door shut.

Before he could say, "Well? What's the report on Hutchinson?" I said just like I'd told Starsky I would that Hutchinson 'Hutch' for short, had been beaten up and he was sick, but both were able to be medically taken care of by him staying mostly in bed for the rest of the day and tonight, and most of tomorrow and occasionally Starsky handing him two Tylenol, some ginger ale, some chicken and noodle soup, but no more than that.

"That's great news!" Beryl responded, satisfied with what I'd told him. Then later on while we were patrolling the main streets, God hadn't suddenly decided to give me any kind of divine revelation (and which pertained to Hutch, Starsky, and some other people) but if He was giving me the revelation, this is what I would be seeing...

Starsky was fifteen minutes into driving Hutch and him to Huggy Bear's Bar and Grill and that Huggy, the owner, was also their favorite police informant, along with being a great friend of theirs and who could be trusted to keep things a secret.

Starsky reassured a still worried about where they going Hutch that was exactly where they were going, and when they got there, they would be using Huggy's upstairs bedroom as a hide-out crash pad and where only they and Huggy, and Captain Dobey would know where they were.

Then, although Hutch still hadn't yet puked, he eventually would when one of the nasty symptoms of heroin withdrawal was doing just that (and in spite of whether or not he still desired to vomit) though he wasn't yet vomiting, presently he was having some of the other dreadful symptoms that came with the extra amount of time that had elapsed since leaving the alley and since he had gone without getting another shot of heroin.

Continuing to lay on his left side, curled up into a ball, but not so tight of a one that his guts were being painfully scrunched together, and just below his knees his legs still freely dangled off the seat, and additionally the top of his head continued to make great contact with his partner's and best buddy's outer right thigh, even so, he had stopped being contented with 'any' of that!

When Hutch was highly stressed out about something he sometimes couldn't hold back his habit of stuttering,

"Hot-t-t," he huffed out while agitatedly rolling his head from side to side and clawing at the front of his partially unbuttoned now wet with his sweat shirt; attempting to get some more of the buttons unsnapped.

Though soon finding out that he wasn't getting anywhere with trying to unsnap the rest of the stupid things, he simply just gave up and quit agitatedly rolling his head, and rested his hands on his still wholly clothed lower abdomen and like a lot of the rest of his shirt, had been made even wetter with his perspiration from his brief amount of physical exertion inside the Torino.

The back of his shirt that was now even wetter was wet with his sweat even in the alley, before he simply just gave up undoing the snaps on the front of his shirt, Starsky was already on it with trying to cool Hutch down. Starsky was right that trying to help Hutch undo the rest of the snaps on the shirt wasn't going to do a bit of good at cooling Hutch down as the shirt was already made of a light-weight material that was light enough it couldn't be contributing in making the blond hot.

The breeze outside the car was too gentle to be coming through the fully rolled down driver's side window so instead, Starsky, as quickly as he could, had gotten it entirely rolled back up, and as rapidly as possible had turned on the Torino's fantastically functioning air conditioner to its highest cooling and blowing setting.

Seven more minutes passed and as Starsky still kept his eyes safely on the road, he looked down at his noticeably less distraught friend. However, there still was a deep crease between Hutch's eyebrows that informed Starsky to continue to not unsnap Hutch's shirt when again, the cotton material was already light-weight and wasn't making the blond hot in anyway at all.

It was the withdrawal from heroin making him hot, but even though the blond currently was less distraught, that didn't mean the air conditioner, as great as it was, had yet gotten around to cooling Hutch off as much as he wished to be cooled off.

To hopefully take Hutch's mind off of that particular irritant, Starsky slipped his right thumb and fingers through the somewhat curly fair hair that covered the right side of Hutch's head, and began giving him what he hoped was a marvelously soothing scalp massage.

Not that he was counting, but twelve seconds into doing it, "You're loving this, huh?" Starsky asked when Hutch, to show that he did love it and appreciated the massage let out a long, happy, sigh and then feeling at complete peace, he was quiet as a lamb. One lying down in green pastures and besides still waters with one David Michael Starsky being the shepherd who had brought him there.

Nevertheless, after thirty three more seconds of Starsky's therapeutic administrations Hutch whimpered, whimpered, whimpered and did it some more, even though Starsky, on Hutch's first vocalization that he was once again hurting, yanked his hand off the blond's head, thinking that it was the head massage that was contributing to Hutch being in pain.

Starsky, when yanking his hand off of the blond's head, at least didn't run the Torino off the road and ram into one of the many heavy-duty aluminum tall lamp poles that lined the road, and were turned off with it still being broad daylight.

And Hutch heroically didn't yet ask for Starsky to give him (s _omething,_ _medicine, diacetylmorphine, heroin, horse, H, smack, stuff, junk etc.) when doing so would even_ _more-so anguish Starsky._

 _Starsky...his already distressed best partner, best friend, and best caregiver and_ _that any person in the world could ever ask for!_

Although the blond man who used to live in Minnesota and just this instant realized the time would come when he wouldn't be able to keep from being a despicable coward and selfishly ask Starsky for the heroin anyway!

It terribly frightened him that even though he would continue to thoroughly dearly love Starsky that he would go so low as to ask Starsky to give him the stuff.

The blond also was scared and shockingly so, knowing that after he'd asked, he hadn't seen anything yet!

When Starsky wouldn't give him the 'medicine' anyway and the withdrawal would get so diabolical that just like Hutch knew what would happen-

The time would arrive that he felt like he had a case of the super-flu with 'all and spare none' of the 37 trillion cells in his body screaming out to be released from the hellish torment!

In the meanwhile...

"Wasn't your massaging me...but heroin withdrawal right now so bad ...the cold air...on me... causin' shootin' searin' hot nerve pain!" then four minutes later he groaned out,

"Still hurts! I'm free- free-freezing!" he stuttered, again having become highly upset and noticeably shivering, his teeth uncontrollably chattered together. And even though Starsky, as fast as he could, had turned off the air conditioner as soon as he'd heard Hutch say "cold air."


	2. Chapter 2

_A reminder that there is no cussing in this story, though I know Hutch and Starsky sometimes swear._

 _Also, a repeat that this story doesn't stick with a whole lot of things the way that they were in the episode of "The Fix."_

 _Additionally, another mention that one of the ways I'm sticking to the script of "The Fix" and that Robert I. Holt wrote is that with the exception of Bill Beryl, Bryd, Henry, Conner, and Catalina (whose names I made up) any other characters I give the names of are the same ones Robert has in his script. Oh, and to clarify this- Also, not mentioned in the script are David and Jonathan from the Bible._

Chapter Two

While Beryl and I continued on patrolling our assigned area of the streets of Bay City, California, God still hadn't suddenly decided to give me, Bernie Glassman, any kind of divine revelation (and which pertained to Hutch, Starsky, and some other people) but if He was giving me the revelation, this is what I would now be seeing...

 _Friday night and after Hutch left Parker Center, at first he went home. His plans to do a quick wash-up before meeting up with Jeanie Walden._

 _For as long as Hutch had lived at his Venice, California cottage house, Starsky, and for some unknown reason, persisted in calling the house an apartment. But that was Starsky because he also sometimes called any coins that equaled 25 cents a quarter. Like two dimes and a nickel equaled 25 cents, but Starsky would sometimes ask Hutch for a quarter._

 _S &H S&H S&H S&H S&H_

 _When Hutch entered his house on Friday night, not the dear and good Lord, but a crime lord with the Biblical first name of 'Ben' his last name Forest, had already arranged for Hutchinson to be kidnapped from inside the cottage house . Only Forest knew how he'd gotten wind that Hutch was coming home first before he met up with Jeanie; one thing that Forest needed to hear from Hutch was Jeanie's whereabouts._

 _Outside of Hutch's house was a canal with some ducks floating on it and without a care in the world. Forest intentionally meant for Hutch to feel like a freak for being kidnapped from inside his own place when a cop being nabbed from there was previously unheard of. Yes, Hutchinson would definitely feel like a freak._

 _Even being kidnapped from right outside of the cottage would've been good too, but being kidnapped inside of it additionally helped to keep any of the detective's neighbors from seeing the kidnapping._

 _Ben wasn't anywhere near Hutch's place to participate in the kidnapping, but three of his men were._

 _One of them wasn't a religious monk, but someone named Allen 'Monk' Phylos._

 _His eyes blue, an eerie hue too, it was one of the reasons Forest had made him his right hand man. In front of Monk's house was some of that Bay City plant-life . Like one of those trees with beautiful white flowers and lush green leaves._

 _Hyraxes, additionally translated as rock badgers and conies were written about in some Bible verses in the Old Testament... there was another lousy creep and with the last name of Coney, and who was another one of Ben Forest's men._

 _There was even one whose surname was Walsh and there was a Walsh University, a Roman Catholic one, in Ohio._

Friday night and inside of Monk's house that he rented, Hutch was inside a bedroom with the entire window having wooden boards nailed over it to keep any neighbors from peaking in and seeing any of the evil things being done to the detective.

The boards also helped at keeping those neighbors from hearing anything, and hearing things that would alert them to call the cops to come rescue Hutch.

Also, inside of the bedroom, the homicide detective was... by then... entirely aware that he was suffering with a pounding headache and a severe neck ache-both a result of being knocked out at his place. And knocked out he had been! The brutal force of the blow being the only explanation on how he'd stayed unconscious all through the drive from his place to where he was at then with the thugs.

Yet even with the killer headache and neck ache Hutch came up with an additional explanation of why he hadn't become conscious during that particular drive. His explanation being that during that drive, that every time he started to 'come to' that one of the creeps deprived him of much needed oxygen. Deprived him by frequently covering up both of his nostrils with Saran Wrap.

Saran Wrap: A thin, yet clingy plastic wrap that was sold in rolls and used primarily for wrapping food.

"Okay Hutch, that's totally ridiculous that they deprived you of oxygen with the wrap and even if you did have a dream just last week that pertained to Saran Wrap and being suffocated with the stuff." Hutch had the time to chastise himself right before he'd unquestionably heard one of the creeps who he didn't know nickname was Monk say,

"Put him in that bedroom."

A blindfold. A dark one. A pitch dark one was already tied around Hutch's head and over his eyes- It was giving him an admittedly scary taste of what it was like to be completely blind, and at such a young age!

Additionally, and inside of the bedroom, Hutch was very aware that he was sitting on a rock hard wooden chair. The plush and comfy seat cushion having been intentionally removed by one of the criminals and not having the cushion on the seat, it aided in making Hutch to not be nice and comfortable at all. When without the seat cushion there, the chair was putting pressure on some of his nerves and messing with his lower back, and along with the pounding headache and neck ache, he was in even more pain.

His arms were pulled really tight, _as taut as they humanly as possible could go_ , behind the back of the chair and both of his wrist were tied tightly together with rough rope. The roughness and that was already in the process of chafing his skin and making it bleed as he continued to struggle to get out of his bonds!

Finding out that he wasn't getting anywhere with freeing himself-

In spite of being anxious and frightened and hurting, he was a tough monkey and wouldn't give up Jeanie's whereabouts even though his right jaw repeatedly kept on being backhanded and by one of the criminal's powerful fist. Hutch's right jaw was really taking a beating and clobbered so much it was a miracle that his...the detective's...right jaw hadn't been broken-the man he didn't know had the last name of Coney was the one who was backhanding him. And Coney had over part of his fist some white boxing tape and keeping his entire hand from being injured.

Then when Hutch still wouldn't give up where Jeanie was, "Do it to him," one of the creeps in the room with him and that he still didn't know his nickname was 'Monk ' ordered the one that had been backhanding him in the right jaw.

Right after the "Do it to him," that's when Hutch's abdomen was repeatedly punched.

His legs kicked and including his shins. And his somewhat thick blue jeans covering them didn't do anything to soften the blows.

He was a tough monkey all right, then other parts of his body were battered to where he passed out cold. Right before he did, he once again heard one of the thugs chomping on some chewing gum. The flavor. A sickening to the cop flavor, especially because even though he couldn't smell from where he sat the flavor of it, it was still sickening to Hutch because the thug he didn't know his last name was Walsh was chomping on the gum while at the same time finding so much humor in him (Ken Hutchinson) being so physically abused.

When Hutch became conscious again-

"You got one more chance. Where is she?" the criminal that he didn't know was nicknamed Monk inquired.

"Stuff it!" was Hutch's reply, knowing that unlike what he had been told, if he gave up where Jeanie was he wouldn't be taken home and be put to bed and wake up in the morning like 'nothing' had happened to him. The beatings he had received and causing him such a high level of pain... his bruises and his blood, would attest to the fact that something bad had happened to him.

But more importantly the "Stuff it!" was because if he gave up Jeanie's whereabouts, she (and never again) would be happy.

Then this Tuesday afternoon, at Huggy's...

As Hutch's withdrawal from the drug continued and the sweat still tenaciously flowed out of his 6'1" tall body and with parched, cracked, and bleeding lips..

He was down on his knees in the restroom and grabbing a hold of Starsky's legs, he was literally and _yet again_ 'begging' Starsky for the dope.

Agitation was a symptom of the heroin withdrawal, "You lousy Jew Polack!" Hutch thought about yelling when Starsky still wouldn't go get him the illegal drug.

"I still need it!" the blond instead hollered.

"You don't need it. You want it. There's a difference," Starsky informed him.

Hutch didn't want to listen to what Starsky just told him and begged for the heroin _yet again_!

When that didn't work, "Don't you know that any licensed doctor will tell you that coffee and even without lots of sugar. Lots! Is a diuretic and will dehydrate me more than I already am!? "

"And the withdrawal along with those lousy candy bars you keep making me eat are making me barf ! Makin' me have a case of the craps so badly I can't take it any longer!" He next told Starsky his butt hole was on hell fire from all the crapping he was doing.

"I'm sure it is," Starsky replied, handing Hutch some more cream that contained witch hazel to hopefully help with the burning.

It didn't...

"Give me some help. Some help." Hutch made the not one, but two requests and right in a row; the bruises on his face and on the many other parts of his body having turned a more purplish black and more painful, and more painful even while doing something so simple as taking a breath. Just two little ones. A little breath in, then a little breath out. And of course there was the continuing withdrawal from the heroin-

Those little breaths obviously weren't contributing to his physical well-being, he needed more air, feeling, this time for sure! Like he was suffocatin'!

Taking a bigger breath in and then out to try to get some more oxygen inside of his lungs, he gasped, and really loud, from the pain of it.

"Oh man! He's hurting! Nothin but sweat and pain for the next forty two hours," Huggy, standing right inside the small bathroom with them, said.

The black man was skinny enough to be in there with them.

"Get outta here. Get outta of here. Leave me alone." Hutch ordered him to go away; furious at Huggy for again reminding him what he was in for with the withdrawal. Earlier Huggy had said, "Nothing but sweat and pain for the next forty eight hours," and Hutch hadn't appreciated Huggy saying it then either. And with forty two hours remaining of the withdrawal from heroin, it was then that Hutch suddenly decided he wanted Starsky to be the only one taking care of him, and even though Starsky still wasn't going to have some heroin delivered to the room and then give him his drug of choice!

A little bit of more time passed by at Huggy's-

Huggy was downstairs helping his employees with their duties.

Upstairs-Starsky took some more toilet paper and wiped off Hutch's face and where the snot was running like crazy out of not one, but both of Hutch's nostrils. To the blond it seemed like the millionth time...(no, make that the billionth time!) that the nasal discharge flowed so freely out of his nostrils, and his nose and underneath of it were miserably sore from Starsky repeatedly wiping off the snot. To add, Hutch's eyes were tearing-yet another symptom of the withdrawal.

"Won't you help me!?" Hutch shouted at Starsky.

"Sure babe. I'll help ya," Starsky said with total sympathy for Hutch, then added, "Just like I've been helping you get on the john in time instead of ya peeing your britches and crapping them, and helping ya with placing a trash can underneath your mouth to catch your foul-smellin puke. And while I'm at it...wiping all of the snot off your face!"

The brunet added, "I promise you'll see that the coffee and candy bars are helping you after all. Now open up that trap of yours and have another bite of candy. "

"Don't want it! Don't like the taste of it!" The blond then pouted.

"Tough petunias!" Starsky shot back.

Hutch ignored the "Tough petunias,"...the blond informed Starsky, "I feel like a freak by being nabbed from inside my _own_ home. It's scaring me silly with just the thought of ever again going anywhere near my place. If I ever get brave enough to go ahead and do it, once inside it I'm locking the doors, all the windows, and never coming out again!"

Okay, so the never coming out again was an exaggeration, but inside his head where Starsky couldn't hear his thoughts- Hutch was now recollecting being held captive in one of the criminal's bedrooms and he also telling them, "Get outta here. Get outta here. Leave me alone."

"Sure baby. We'll get out of here." One of those criminals who he had figured out was the main boss had replied. And then after that the cop felt totally humiliated for begging him to "Don't Go! Don't leave me!" He next felt the humiliation of being a drug addict. A genuine 100 percent one and then some!

Soon after that he'd given up the whereabouts of Jeanie. And then he felt so extremely shameful for doing so, but shortly afterwards they'd given him another hit of heroin and that had made him so happy. That was until the drug had wore off too much to his liking.

Currently, at Huggy's, Hutch couldn't figure out what his girlfriend's name was and no matter how much he tried to remember it. He couldn't remember where he'd told where she was hiding. He vaguely recalled that he eventually did see her when he was still with the thugs and by then his blindfold had been removed.

But presently at Huggy's- he was fully remembering that when he was being held captive by those lousy thugs that one of them kept on shining a flashlight in his eyes. A really, really, really bright flashlight! And no matter how bad of a shape he was in from the withdrawal and at Huggy's, though he couldn't recall the name of... what was her name? He presently somehow figured out that the flashlight that had shined so brightly in his eyes was his _own_ police flashlight.

(In a desperate outcry when he was with the criminals, "I'm hurtin'! I'm hurtin! Come on, help me!")

Hutch had followed that with,

"Get that thing offa me!" he had cried out to the one holding the flashlight on him, and cried out only for his body to stiffen, and soon after that he convulsed from the heroin withdrawal at that time.

Right now at Huggy's: "You think you're bad now sucker, in a couple of hours you're gonna be banging your head against the floor." Hutch remembered the main boss criminal then informing him.

Also currently at Huggy's:

"What is her name?" Hutch questioned out loud and loud enough for Starsky to easily hear him. " What is her name!?" Hutch repeated, but yelled it even louder with trying to recollect it.

Next at Huggy's and right after Starsky said, "Do you mean Jeanie?" Hutch started doing just that. Banging his head against the floor.

Bang. Bang. Bang! Bang!

When he did so, Starsky and he were outta the restroom and close to the bed.

Hutch scrambled on up to the bed -

Bang! He slammed his head against the wall.

The picture on the wall above the bed surprisingly didn't fall off the wall and only fell enough to hang lopsided.

"Shh Hutch. It's okay. Everything's going to be all right. I promise," Starsky said, managing to finally get a hold of Hutch and hold him in his lap while managing to, at the same time, be extra careful of Hutch's bruises and cradle him in his arms tight, but not too tight.

The two men were completely silent for ten minutes.

"Tooth hurts. Think it's chipped off some from one of those thugs clobbering me so hard in the right jaw."

Starsky stuck one of his fingers in his friend's mouth to check things out, and Hutch, finding it too annoying, started to close his lips to bite down on the finger enough to let Starsky know that he didn't want the brunet's digit in his mouth.

"Don't you dare bite me!" Starsky warned, then softened his harsh warning by adding "Babe."

Starsky had felt the chipped off molar and though he wasn't going to take Hutch to the dentist right now, he would be taking him to the dentist before the week was finished. And if it needed to be pulled, hopefully afterwards Hutch didn't have to suffer with the pain of a dry socket.

In the meantime, Hutch, once again, was remembering the main boss criminal he'd been with telling him, "Sure baby. We'll get out of here," and that criminal calling him 'baby' caused Hutch to despise that word and the word 'babe' being used toward him. Because of it, "Don't you dare call me babe ever again!" Hutch hollered out and definitely at Starsky.

Additionally at Huggy's, though Hutch knew that earlier on that day he had previously been inside a car with three of the criminals-he didn't remember that the color of the vehicle was a dark brownish red. He was too far gone at the time to have bothered with trying to get a look at the car's California license plate and see that it had on it JNJ322.

But while inside the car and no matter how far gone he was then; he'd definitely heard one of the lousy creeps that he still didn't know last name was Coney say, "Where do you figure, Monk?"

 _"Off the point. Water's deep."_

 _Even in the bad shape that Hutch was in at that time, it was clear as a bell to him that he and 'yet again' had been stripped of his own decision of what was happening to him, and that he was being ( against his will ) taken to the Pacific Ocean and to that 'specific' spot of the harbor._

 _The blond cop was sick! Sick and tired of being beaten down so badly by amongst other things... anxiety and fear!_

 _Heaped on top of that was the sheer terror Hutch felt-When the same thug Monk (yeah that was his name and Hutch did remember it while in the car) cold-heartedly said,_

 _"The current oughta carry that body out about 200 miles," as obviously the criminal who had been so nervous about icing a cop had had a change of heart and was going to have him (the cop) killed off after all!_

 _Immediately afterwards, the brunet jerk who he still didn't know last name was Coney and in the first place, had brought up the topic of where the young Detective Sergeant First Class should be 'iced'-Had 'cool, calm, and collected' proclaimed how, "By then he oughta be sharks bait,"..._

 _Hutch had clearly heard that too, and it was even more-so horrifyingly overwhelming to him, when whether or not it was_ _shark's_ _bait with a huge one feasting on his drowned and by then bloated, no longer lean body, and devouring him..._

 _Or if it was_ _sharks'_ _with a school of the smaller-sized creatures circling around his not yet swollen body right before they hungrily made a meal out of him!-_

 _The end result was still the same._

 _Nobody would ever be able to find him!_

 _Not even Starsky!_

Still, Hutch had been successful at escaping from the car the thugs had had him in, and now at Huggy's the time had arrived when he couldn't stand the withdrawal from heroin any longer and also being held a (now _involuntarily_ prisoner) by Starsky and inside of Huggy's upstairs crash pad.

Besides! Didn't Starsky know and then care about that he had suffered with some really bad withdrawal symptoms when he was with the thugs before he'd given up the whereabouts of what was her name!?

Now wait!

Starsky had just recently told him, "Do you mean Jeanie?"

"Jeanie. Jeanie. Jeanie. Jeanie Walden." Hutch repeated her name out loud as Starsky still held him in his non homosexual, yet anyhow extremely loving arms.

This stage of withdrawal at Huggy's, instead of getting better and having grown worse and worse, had broken down the blond so much that scrunching his eyes tightly closed and re-opening them, he began envisioning things.

 _He loathed being a cop after all , although he still enormously dearly loved Starsky- he was successful at escaping from Starsky._

 _"Badly beaten. Took my wallet. Not contagious, but extremely sick!" he...Hutch... told the cabbie who took pity on him and took him to a particular address. As soon as the cab was out of sight, he ran ( but clumsily and hunched over in pain ) two doors down to a female drug dealer-_

 _It was a too long of a story how he'd just recently found out that she just recently had become a dealer, and he was 100 percent certain she didn't know he was a cop._

 _But two years ago and just before he'd moved into his Venice Beach, Calif. cottage house by the canal, she had seen him completely naked._

 _They hadn't had sex, she anyhow said if he ever needed a favor from her, to come to her place and her Bay City, California address was 5 Heroine St. and just two doors down from 3._

 _Starsky and Huggy also knew that she was a dealer, but Hutch was absolutely positive they didn't know anything about his past history with her so they wouldn't come looking for him anywhere nearby her place._

Also in his visualizing of things- Hutch was now inside her house and by the closed front door, he collapsed onto the floor.

 _Rolling over and spread-eagle, laying flat on his back, gasping out, "No money," his hands were way, way, way too shaky to do any kind of work. To include supporting himself in sitting back up and taking off his blue jeans._

 _She deftly took them off for him and lifting up his right leg ( and not having to waste time tying a tourniquet around any part of the limb) there was a nice juicy vein ._

 _She quickly grabbed off of the nearby table an already prepared syringe filled with the liquefied heroin, she wrapped her other hand around another portion of his leg to hold the severely trembling (from the heroin withdrawal) leg completely still._

 _Even more-so desperately needing a fix, "Do it!" Hutch hollered out and excitedly! At the top of his lungs! And she complied with stabbing the vein with the not dull, bitingly sharp hypodermic needle._

 _The withdrawal from heroin was making him feel more pain than what he would otherwise be feeling from the injection, he screamed so loud with how badly the shot had hurt that it was amazing that at least a part of a lung didn't leap out of his agape mouth._

 _He sometimes had a habit of stuttering when he was highly stressed about something, the shot, though ex-ex-excruciating!-_

 _Soon afterwards he didn't care about how stinkin' excruciating being stabbed with the hypodermic needle had felt, because the drug soon had him entered into paradise. Paradise, that was, on Earth and where he was free from all of life on Earth's problems._

 _(The beautiful Asian Poppy. A plant that years ago Satan had taken and planted in some human's mind the thought that from the seed pod could be found paradise.)_

 _But when the drug wore off, and Hutch exited out of paradise and needed another hit of the liquefied H to not overdose and he_ _got_ _a little bit more of the stuff -It at least would give him enough of a breather so he wasn't insanely laughing about how hilarious it was that heroin started with the same letter of his last name of Hutchinson and his most commonly used nickname of "Hutch". And wishing ...and honest to God! That he had never been born!_

 _Then what if his leg, because of where the injection was given, got a blood clot?_

 _Then what if his leg got gangrene and needed to be amputated. And when it did that most definitely would surely suck!_

As it was, the blond cop's current withdrawal from heroin and at Huggy's was so horrible, it was bad enough that the surge of adrenaline coursing throughout his entire body had him completely wired and so wide awake he could forget about finally getting some much wanted and needed sleep.

And the stinkin withdrawal was bad enough that he had just 'had' his monstrously morbid and highly disturbing envisioning of things.

That meant though he hadn't become psychotic and had been envisioning things instead of hallucinating, at the same time the state of his mental health wasn't good at all because it had reached a way too, too, high of an unhealthy level!

In his defense, all along he did really have, and without having to waste time tying a tourniquet around his leg (to get an injection site for the heroin) an extremely easy to see nice juicy vein.

He'd heard about addicts who had one too, and they did think about shooting themselves up there.

Some had actually done it.

If their hands were way, way, way too shaky to give themselves their injection they possibly could get someone who would do it for them.

But not a drug dealer when as far as he knew, dealers only doled out to their clients whatever the client's drug of choice was, but dealers wouldn't go ahead and inject or put into their client's mouth the drug, and no matter how shaky their client's hands were.

However, the female dealer who had appeared in Hutch's visualizations and really did live at 5 Heroine St. in Bay City , and that he did really know, would inject him with the heroin!

But right now at Huggy's he could only guess that it also was the adrenaline still coursing through-out his entire body that was causing his brain to stay so alert and active.

And 'supernaturally', too, when though he believed in witches, but not ones who flew on a broom across the moon, the lady drug dealer anyhow held supernatural power over him because his brain was stuck on continuing to think about her!

He needed and wanted a break from the woman who lived on Heroine Street lest he way too, too, too prematurely in life burn-out his adrenal glands!

Succeeding with getting his brain enough of a break away from the woman,

But not enough so that he started thinking of if he did ever get gangrene on any part of his body from that woman!  Giving him a shot of the H, the stuff, the hell dust and because of it that part of his body would need to be sawed off and how that would surely suck-

"Hutch!"

"Hutch!"

"Hutch!"

"Hey Blondie! Do ya hear me!? I've been shaking your arm and worried about you askin' "Hutch! Are you okay!?"

"Hum? Huh? Why? What? Where?" He'd completely forgotten about Starsky being there.

He then whimpered and whimpered and did it some more, but this time not inside the Torino but at Huggy's.

Oh yeah! Now Ken Hutchinson with the _stark_ track marks in the crook of his left elbow and who had Norwegian ancestors couldn't help but to remember what had started his most current cowardly whimpering when it was making him hurt a whole lot. And he told _Starsk_ and whose Jewish Ashkenazic ancestors came from Poland,

Isn't your massaging my neck..but heroin withdrawal so bad ...the cold air in the room... causin' shootin' searin' hot nerve pain!" then four minutes later he groaned out,

"Still hurts! I'm free-free-freezing!" and noticeably shivering, his teeth uncontrollably chattered together. And even though Starsky still had Hutch cradled in his lap on the bed and had the blond covered up with more blankets that Huggy had brought into the room.

Then more time passed by and Hutch was entirely exhausted, but sleep was slow as molasses in arriving.

When sleep did finally come, he was snoring.

The man was so out of it he didn't hear or see anything. But when he woke up, the first thing Starsky said was, "You feel a whole lot better now, don't ya' babe?"

Hutch permitted the' babe' and actually smiled at the word that Starsky and not any criminal, had used toward him.

Then soon later on Starsky asked him something.

"Hey, Hutch. Do you realize that Ashkenazic has your first name Ken in it?"

Hutch grinned at that and looked at the stark track marks still inside the crook of his left elbow. "And do you realize that stark is almost spelled the same way as Starsk, but minus the lower case _s_." They both got a good laugh at that.

Then Hutch became much more serious again. "Jeanie. Jeanie Walden. We gotta go find her Starsk!"

Huggy protested Hutch going to do that right now, "What! Are you outta your mind!? You're a whole lot better than you was Blondie, but you're still weak as a kitten and can't even tie your own shoes!"

"And you! If you go huntin for those turkeys who shot Hutch up, good dudes and dudettes will think they've seen a bear and die of fright!" Huggy informed Starsky.

"Hug. You're a great pal and we understand where you're comin' from, but shut your mouth," Hutch and Starsky said in unison.

"Will do, but not until I tell ya I don't have a gun for Hutch to use and before you both leave, Goldilocks needs to go do a quick wash up and change into these clean clothes I got from his place.

Earlier at Huggy's, Starsky had given Hutch a sponge bath. One better than any professional nurse could give. But right now the blond was ripe with enough stench that he readily agreed to go take a quick shower, then change into the fresh clothes.

In another hour the detectives were inside another bar and though Hutch didn't have a gun with him, his partner and best friend in the whole entire world did.

(The two were a modern day David and Jonathan with the way their souls were so tightly knit together.)

S&HS&HS&H

Mickey was Starsky's street stoolie, but would sell his old lady to anyone for ten bucks- Hutch handed him the ten dollars. Mickey didn't need to know that he had borrowed the money from Huggy.

"Where's Jeanie Walden!? " Hutch asked Mickey.

"I'd tell yuh if I knew. Honest."

But the street stoolie hadn't given a honest answer and Hutch knew it.

Hutch grabbed the beer out of his hands and threatened to throw him against the wall if he didn't tell the truth.

"Where is she?" that was Hutch again, but he was growing physically weaker and his entire face had grown paler and paler even with the heavy bruising.

"Hutch. You look okay but you look sick or something."

"Where is she!?" Starsky demanded.

The two detectives paid no attention to the other patrons in the bar and for the most part they paid no attention to them. That was except for Coney who was paying attention to them while using the telephone to call Monk. If they iced both Starsky and Hutch maybe Forest would give both him and Monk a Christmas bonus.

Instead, Hutch regained some of his color to his face and the two cops soon had Coney in handcuffs after watching Mickey taking more than a few nervous glances at him using the phone.

Hutch went outside the bar and for the 3rd time in a little over a day, he almost was ran over and killed by a vehicle. The 3rd time was Monk barreling his dark brownish red car in on Hutch, but before the blond could be murdered by the car, he managed to jump on top of a wooden fence.

Starsky was inside his Torino and Monk still had a gun and so did the brunet detective. There was a shoot-out and Starsky won as he had shot Monk.

Deader than a door nail.

The louse was no longer alive to ever again torture Hutch!

Within the hour the two detectives were at Ben Forest's mansion. In the process of being arrested, he grounded out, "Hey Jeanie. Tell him about Vegas. Tell him about everything! You think he'll want you then!?"

Las Vegas was also known as Sin City, the 'him' Forest was referring to was Hutch.

The detective didn't ask Jeanie to tell him about Vegas and after she left Forest's place, Hutch and she- they never saw each other again.

Forest was in handcuffs and inside the Torino. Starsky was standing outside the vehicle and so was Hutch.

"You okay?" he asked Hutch with sincere concern in his voice.

"Yeah." Hutch answered, not telling the whole truth because they both knew it would be awhile before he was entirely fine. Like, for example, his chipped tooth needed to be attended to by a dentist sometime this week. Plus he wasn't completely withdrawn from the heroin yet, as forty eight hours of nothing but sweat and pain hadn't yet past.

And his immune system was somewhat lowered due to the withdrawal and it was making it somewhat easier for him to catch the real flu.

At least Hutch wasn't around anyone who then had the contagious real flu and that made both men happy.

Starsky wasn't always the better driver but he frequently liked doing it more than Hutch.

The curly-haired brunet Starsky anyway asked Hutch, "You wanna drive my cah?"

Hutch softly snorted his reply which meant, "No. But thanks for askin' anyway buddy."

The End

End Notes: The actress who played Jeanie last name was Christian. Also in the revised final draft of the script of "The Fix" when Forest is with Jeanie inside the house at Seaview Pointe Jeanie asks Ben:

"Why Ben. Why couldn't you just let it go?"

Forest (grins) "Ever look in a mirror? Full-length?"

Jeanie (disgusted) "I've been trying to get that out of my mind. Forest (laughs) Oh, come on, angel. You meet some pink-cheeked cop and all of a sudden you've got religion!"


End file.
